I was so knackered after yesterday's (mercifully this year's last) day's interviewing that I (a) left my laptop charger behind in the interview room (not for the first time), and (b), enticed by the £1.16.9 diesel price in Ditton on the way home, started filling up before I registered that the pump concerned only delivered the 10p/l dearer variety. Bought £6.04 worth. So, it was off to Sainsbury's this morning to complete the job.
While there, I went into the supermarket and bought a couple of packets of the excellent Speldhurst sausages. Enquired of cashier whether there was anything to come back on the loyalty points. 'Yes, £5!' Said sausages coming to £5.20, it was a jingling cash transaction, accompanied by mild glee. But then, grumpy old git mode took over as usual. Question 1. How many hundreds have we spent in order to get a fiver off a couple of packets of bangers? Numerous. Question 2. Four bob for a dozen bangers? Maybe OK in 1959.
Recovering a sense of proportion (and resignation, I guess), I've fiddled a little in the garden today. The spuds are growing very well, and are now earthed up, watered in, and located close to the watering machine, which just needs now to be set up. The tall bags ought to yield more than our big pots, so it'll be interesting to compare their crops: two seed potatoes in each bag; three in each pot. The rockets are living up to their name, the charlottes are reticent, and the maris peers somewhere in between. I read somewhere that Sharp's Express is the best for growing in containers: anyone tried them? In the decorative department, the cherries are starting to blossom, the daffodils are done, and the narcissi are starting to go over. The aquilegias are full of buds, and the spiraeas are flowering.
Surprised at absence of comment on the election campaign? Don't be.
Tuesday, 21 April 2015
Sunday, 19 April 2015
A bit previous...
...but the beans are in. I'm sure I started them too early, or so everyone tells me, but there's still time to start again if the first lot fails. I've planted four yellow runners and the one borlotti that germinated, and seven dwarf franch beans. The little raised bed, which already has a couple of rows of sturon onion sets and a few herbs in it, is looking well populated, with perhaps just enough room for a row of leeks when they're big enough to plant out.
We'd a pleasant drive down to Brighton today to assemble a new flat-pack for Barbara, and to replace a few light bulbs. The latter job is a breeze for me, since I don't even have to get up on tiptoes, but a challenge for someone a shade less tall and living alone, who would have had to get up on a step ladder. The former ought also to have been easy, given my IKEA-assembling years as an expat. I noticed early in the process that there were two gauges of washers in the pack, but didn't twig for a minute or two that the reason why the bolts weren't going in was that, logically enough, the pack also contained two gauges of Allen keys, and the one I was using was just spinning in the bolt head. The penny having finally dropped, we were soon in business again, and Barbara now has a shocking pink modernist dressing table. She treated us to lunch at a nearby hostelry that we have all used a lot over the years, though its name has changed a few times. Currently Breeze: recommended.
The drive was painless, except for the slow progress, as always, through Brighton itself. I've heard the city described as ostentatiously anti-motorist, which may account for some of the reported disenchantment with the Green city council. Nevertheless, Brighton remains a focus for old car gatherings. We encountered a fair few old Austin 7s today as they puttered their way down the A26. All utterly immaculate, and with a range of different bodywork including an American-style roadster two seater with a rounded tail - and presumably a rumble seat. One, indeed, was registered in the Swiss canton of Vaud, and I earnestly hope it came over on a trailer! I was just saying the other day to a friend that the Romandie is almost anarchic compared with my stamping grounds in cantons Bern and Zürich. As if to demonstrate the point, our VD-registered Austin 7 was driven briskly through a red traffic light.
Not the worst driving of the day: today's cactus goes to, or ideally up, a young man in a Y-plate metallic grey Polo with the front number plate on top of the dashboard, yet to be affixed to the exaggerated new plastic front bumper. [The French call this 'tuning', by the way...]. As he followed us, he seemed to be groping around in the footwell for something, consequently driving into the kerb. He then proceeded to swerve violently from side to side, and after we turned off (and stopped to watch), hurtled on round the bends at full throttle. It's enough to turn me into a vigilante - but perhaps not till I've retired from the current hobby.
Spring is really getting a hold now. The forest is a blaze of colour, from the pinks of buds that are still to burst to the acid and lime greens of the emerging foliage. The roadsides are a riot of primroses and cowslips, and there's a pale pink thing everwhere that I've yet to put a name to. The beautiful white wind anemones are in flower, and to judge by the foliage, the bluebells aren't far behind. As for the less desirables, there are vast fields of oilseed rape, and up in the Ashdown Forest the broom is in flower. So, having just about got rid of the cold, by dose is ruddig ad by eyes are stiggig. I'm glad we've chosen not to drive south this coming week. At this time of year, the drive is torture for those of us of the hay-fever persuasion, pollen filters notwithstanding.
Here in the garden (flowers department) the daffodils are over, and the tête-à-tête narcissi are also getting there. The fritillaries are in full flower, the primroses just go on and on, and more and more polyanthus are in flower. Roses are shooting away like mad; even Peace, which I'd just about given up for dead. I've planted a box where the pyracatha used to lurk in wait for the passing unwary, and trimmed the one that I hope it will match in my lifetime. We thus have a couple of pans of box cuttings to go with our inexhaustible patience. The compost bin is full to bursting, and I'm glad we'll have left for the airport by the time the chaps come to collect our donations to the municipal composting process: there will doubtless be dirty looks again when they come to move the brown bin!
I've done so many return trips to the County Town lately that the car must have felt it strange to be taking a different route today. The last in the current series of interviews, for me, at any rate, is tomorrow, and I won't be sorry. At least today's prep was a bit less intensive: I saw three out of tomorrow's four in the first round. That's not quite the end of the hobby before we go south: I have the half-yearly meeting on Wednesday night, leaving me the chance of about six hours' sleep before we head for the airport. Lots of fresh air and sleep in Another Place, we hope.
We'd a pleasant drive down to Brighton today to assemble a new flat-pack for Barbara, and to replace a few light bulbs. The latter job is a breeze for me, since I don't even have to get up on tiptoes, but a challenge for someone a shade less tall and living alone, who would have had to get up on a step ladder. The former ought also to have been easy, given my IKEA-assembling years as an expat. I noticed early in the process that there were two gauges of washers in the pack, but didn't twig for a minute or two that the reason why the bolts weren't going in was that, logically enough, the pack also contained two gauges of Allen keys, and the one I was using was just spinning in the bolt head. The penny having finally dropped, we were soon in business again, and Barbara now has a shocking pink modernist dressing table. She treated us to lunch at a nearby hostelry that we have all used a lot over the years, though its name has changed a few times. Currently Breeze: recommended.
The drive was painless, except for the slow progress, as always, through Brighton itself. I've heard the city described as ostentatiously anti-motorist, which may account for some of the reported disenchantment with the Green city council. Nevertheless, Brighton remains a focus for old car gatherings. We encountered a fair few old Austin 7s today as they puttered their way down the A26. All utterly immaculate, and with a range of different bodywork including an American-style roadster two seater with a rounded tail - and presumably a rumble seat. One, indeed, was registered in the Swiss canton of Vaud, and I earnestly hope it came over on a trailer! I was just saying the other day to a friend that the Romandie is almost anarchic compared with my stamping grounds in cantons Bern and Zürich. As if to demonstrate the point, our VD-registered Austin 7 was driven briskly through a red traffic light.
Not the worst driving of the day: today's cactus goes to, or ideally up, a young man in a Y-plate metallic grey Polo with the front number plate on top of the dashboard, yet to be affixed to the exaggerated new plastic front bumper. [The French call this 'tuning', by the way...]. As he followed us, he seemed to be groping around in the footwell for something, consequently driving into the kerb. He then proceeded to swerve violently from side to side, and after we turned off (and stopped to watch), hurtled on round the bends at full throttle. It's enough to turn me into a vigilante - but perhaps not till I've retired from the current hobby.
Spring is really getting a hold now. The forest is a blaze of colour, from the pinks of buds that are still to burst to the acid and lime greens of the emerging foliage. The roadsides are a riot of primroses and cowslips, and there's a pale pink thing everwhere that I've yet to put a name to. The beautiful white wind anemones are in flower, and to judge by the foliage, the bluebells aren't far behind. As for the less desirables, there are vast fields of oilseed rape, and up in the Ashdown Forest the broom is in flower. So, having just about got rid of the cold, by dose is ruddig ad by eyes are stiggig. I'm glad we've chosen not to drive south this coming week. At this time of year, the drive is torture for those of us of the hay-fever persuasion, pollen filters notwithstanding.
Here in the garden (flowers department) the daffodils are over, and the tête-à-tête narcissi are also getting there. The fritillaries are in full flower, the primroses just go on and on, and more and more polyanthus are in flower. Roses are shooting away like mad; even Peace, which I'd just about given up for dead. I've planted a box where the pyracatha used to lurk in wait for the passing unwary, and trimmed the one that I hope it will match in my lifetime. We thus have a couple of pans of box cuttings to go with our inexhaustible patience. The compost bin is full to bursting, and I'm glad we'll have left for the airport by the time the chaps come to collect our donations to the municipal composting process: there will doubtless be dirty looks again when they come to move the brown bin!
I've done so many return trips to the County Town lately that the car must have felt it strange to be taking a different route today. The last in the current series of interviews, for me, at any rate, is tomorrow, and I won't be sorry. At least today's prep was a bit less intensive: I saw three out of tomorrow's four in the first round. That's not quite the end of the hobby before we go south: I have the half-yearly meeting on Wednesday night, leaving me the chance of about six hours' sleep before we head for the airport. Lots of fresh air and sleep in Another Place, we hope.
Sunday, 12 April 2015
Retirement revisited...
Having received the DWP bumf, I've launched numerous enquiries as to my social security status in other countries. Only to read that, if one has worked abroad for a UK company, the correct answer to 'Have you worked abroad?' is 'No'. So, the application is in. Having received my P60 yesterday, it is clear that the state pension won't pay the tax on my occupational pension, and the former too will be taxed. Oh well. It could be an interesting project to fill my copious free time.
Two days of wannabeak interviews this week, two more to come. At least the driving was easier this week, since the schools are out. I think next year will be my last in this rôle, and interesting as it is, it is quite tiring if you're doing it right, so I shall not be heartbroken at stepping down.
Martyn has cleaned out the pond, thus roughly doubling its capacity. Neville the Newt spent the night in a dusused washing-up bowl on the bench table on the terrace, suitably sheltered, and has now been reintroduced to a refilled pond.
Elsewhere in the garden, we no longer have a pyracantha (firethorn) at the front 'gate', so that removes one litigation risk: the thorns are vicious, as can be seen from the scars on my right forearm. I've identified the box I'll transplant to replace it, and just need to summon up the energy.
It's good to see the trees coming into leaf. The remaining tree at the top of the garden (we had two taken out last back end) is leafing up, and the consequently less hemmed-in flowering cherry looks as if it may break into blossom pretty soon, as does the Bramley. The 'Susan' magnolia is flowering, and the Judas tree is coming into leaf. Good to see that we still have some primroses at the top of the garden. They are blooming fit to bust in other parts of the garden, and have even self-sown into the footpath outside.
On my drive down to Fortnums just now, it was good to see the verges full of primroses, celandines and wind anemones, and to see the trees coming into leaf. My favourite time of year.
Two days of wannabeak interviews this week, two more to come. At least the driving was easier this week, since the schools are out. I think next year will be my last in this rôle, and interesting as it is, it is quite tiring if you're doing it right, so I shall not be heartbroken at stepping down.
Martyn has cleaned out the pond, thus roughly doubling its capacity. Neville the Newt spent the night in a dusused washing-up bowl on the bench table on the terrace, suitably sheltered, and has now been reintroduced to a refilled pond.
 |
| Susan and primroses |
It's good to see the trees coming into leaf. The remaining tree at the top of the garden (we had two taken out last back end) is leafing up, and the consequently less hemmed-in flowering cherry looks as if it may break into blossom pretty soon, as does the Bramley. The 'Susan' magnolia is flowering, and the Judas tree is coming into leaf. Good to see that we still have some primroses at the top of the garden. They are blooming fit to bust in other parts of the garden, and have even self-sown into the footpath outside.
On my drive down to Fortnums just now, it was good to see the verges full of primroses, celandines and wind anemones, and to see the trees coming into leaf. My favourite time of year.
Friday, 3 April 2015
On-off spring
Sorry to have been silent for so long. It's the wannabeak interviewing season, so if I haven't been actually interviewing, I've been driving the forty-mile round trip, or sitting reading cvs and references. Six days' interviewing last month, and four more to come this. Add a couple of days at the hobby itself, plus hours poring over the latest utterances from the Ministry, and I start to feel as if my life ain't my own. Still, at least, having resigned from the Hobby Club, I no longer have that to worry about.
Consequently, the few fine days (when I've actually been at home!) have provided a welcome spot of fresh air and modest exercise. I've done a few hours' worth of slash and burn in the garden, an incidental benefit of which is to bring some colourful primulas out into the open from where they'd been smothered by penstemons. The snowdrops and crocuses have come and gone, but the daffodils and narcissi are still providing lots of colour. The cornus cuttings I brought from Smith Towers eight years ago seem finally to be getting into their stride here. Extraordinary, considering what a thug the parent plant was. Anyway, they've had their annual haircut, and are shooting away well. Next fine day we get, I'll be out with the shears, shaping up some leggy hebes and the box 'gate post'. I'm tempted to hoik out the pyracantha at the other side of the drive-in and start another box in its place. They might just about match before I turn my toes up.
The leeks and beans are germinating like mad in the conservatory: I think I may have been a bit quick off the mark with the latter: we'll see. The seeds we saved from the delicious yellow runner beans grown last year from Annie's seeds are germinating well, as are the dwarf french beans from Fortnums. Onion sets are shooting away, but we await the first signs of potato foliage above the surface of the compost, and of the first sowing of lettuce. Must take stock of flower seeds and get them started.
The robins and dunnocks have learned to feed from the hanging container of suet balls, and Cock Robin is looking a bit emaciated, much of his energy being devoted to courtship feeding of Mrs R. We had four goldfinches in the garden just now: we see them rarely, but on doing so, tend to dash out to buy a nijer seed feeder - which they proceed systematically to ignore. Insomniac early mornings are punctuated by dialogue between the local tawny owls, often quite close to the house. I did just manage to see one once, but not lately.
I had my long-awaited letter from the Department of Work and Pensions the other day. On attempting to claim on line, I found that I had to apply for a username and password, which will eventually arrive on paper. One thing I'm asked to have ready is my social security number in each of the countries I worked in abroad. I have one for Switz, but not for the other countries (though I have dug out a tax number for Germany - not that, having spent all of five months there, my entitlement will amount to a row of beans). In any case, I continued to pay National Insurance contributions while I was abroad, so it's hard to know what use the information will be to the DWP.
It might, on the other hand, get me some modest income from the other countries. I signed away my rights to a Belgian pension second time round, but am asking former colleagues to check whether anything is on file for my longer first stint there. A spot of pension from France would come in handy, though I doubt if it would pay the property taxes in Another Place. If the only benefit is the renewal of contacts with former colleagues in the various countries, then that's already reward enough.
Consequently, the few fine days (when I've actually been at home!) have provided a welcome spot of fresh air and modest exercise. I've done a few hours' worth of slash and burn in the garden, an incidental benefit of which is to bring some colourful primulas out into the open from where they'd been smothered by penstemons. The snowdrops and crocuses have come and gone, but the daffodils and narcissi are still providing lots of colour. The cornus cuttings I brought from Smith Towers eight years ago seem finally to be getting into their stride here. Extraordinary, considering what a thug the parent plant was. Anyway, they've had their annual haircut, and are shooting away well. Next fine day we get, I'll be out with the shears, shaping up some leggy hebes and the box 'gate post'. I'm tempted to hoik out the pyracantha at the other side of the drive-in and start another box in its place. They might just about match before I turn my toes up.
The leeks and beans are germinating like mad in the conservatory: I think I may have been a bit quick off the mark with the latter: we'll see. The seeds we saved from the delicious yellow runner beans grown last year from Annie's seeds are germinating well, as are the dwarf french beans from Fortnums. Onion sets are shooting away, but we await the first signs of potato foliage above the surface of the compost, and of the first sowing of lettuce. Must take stock of flower seeds and get them started.
The robins and dunnocks have learned to feed from the hanging container of suet balls, and Cock Robin is looking a bit emaciated, much of his energy being devoted to courtship feeding of Mrs R. We had four goldfinches in the garden just now: we see them rarely, but on doing so, tend to dash out to buy a nijer seed feeder - which they proceed systematically to ignore. Insomniac early mornings are punctuated by dialogue between the local tawny owls, often quite close to the house. I did just manage to see one once, but not lately.
I had my long-awaited letter from the Department of Work and Pensions the other day. On attempting to claim on line, I found that I had to apply for a username and password, which will eventually arrive on paper. One thing I'm asked to have ready is my social security number in each of the countries I worked in abroad. I have one for Switz, but not for the other countries (though I have dug out a tax number for Germany - not that, having spent all of five months there, my entitlement will amount to a row of beans). In any case, I continued to pay National Insurance contributions while I was abroad, so it's hard to know what use the information will be to the DWP.
It might, on the other hand, get me some modest income from the other countries. I signed away my rights to a Belgian pension second time round, but am asking former colleagues to check whether anything is on file for my longer first stint there. A spot of pension from France would come in handy, though I doubt if it would pay the property taxes in Another Place. If the only benefit is the renewal of contacts with former colleagues in the various countries, then that's already reward enough.
Tuesday, 24 March 2015
Retirement, eh?
I have driven the best part of 200 miles in the past week or so, purely in the pursuit of the hobby and related stuff. It's the interviewing season, and I have the last of six days to do tomorrow. Some mightily good candidates, and quite a lot going forward for second grillings.
In the meantime, the slash and burn continues in the garden as and when the weather allows. We've planted onion sets and sown lettuce, leeks and various kinds of beans, and of course await results. Martyn has shifted herbs to containers to make space for veggies in the raised bed, but it's all the more obvious now that it's far too small for more than a spot of tinkering. If one had the courage of one's convictions, one would Get Someone In to rotovate great swathes of grass, and plant lots of spuds. Absent the above, we have started fifteen seed potatoes of three varieties in containers out on the terrace, and we'll see what they do. We've had terrific results from Charlottes in the past, and will see how the Maris Peers and Rockets perform.
We saved seed from borlottis and flat yellow runner beans (delicious!) last year, so they are installed in disused PQ tubes of compost in the sitooterie, alongside some french bean and leek seed from good old Fortnums. A few cuttings have over-wintered successfully in the cold frames, notably potentillas and cistus. A three year old pelargonium shows signs of life, as do a couple of long-serving fuchsias. Might haul them indoors to boost them into producing shoots long enough to take as cuttings before we head south in a month's time. If we get a good day this week, I'll get out with shears and tidy up some hebes, box and pieris. The primroses are blooming fit to bust: we got them from Gladys, my art class friend some years ago. Sad to say, she seems to have gone into residential care: her vast pile of a house has 'sold' signs on it. But at least, as Miss perceptively put it, we know she's safe.
Rattled the cage of Jokers"Я"Us today, it being more than five weeks since the latest of their blown double-glazing units was measured for replacement. I hope, for the sake of their future customers, that we have fewer cock-ups, hence failure costs, than last time. While in cage-rattling mode, I have enquired of dear Pierre whether he intends ever to finish the work in Another Place. Our spies report precisely no progress since last back end. Replies awaited from both. Deep sigh.
In the meantime, the slash and burn continues in the garden as and when the weather allows. We've planted onion sets and sown lettuce, leeks and various kinds of beans, and of course await results. Martyn has shifted herbs to containers to make space for veggies in the raised bed, but it's all the more obvious now that it's far too small for more than a spot of tinkering. If one had the courage of one's convictions, one would Get Someone In to rotovate great swathes of grass, and plant lots of spuds. Absent the above, we have started fifteen seed potatoes of three varieties in containers out on the terrace, and we'll see what they do. We've had terrific results from Charlottes in the past, and will see how the Maris Peers and Rockets perform.
We saved seed from borlottis and flat yellow runner beans (delicious!) last year, so they are installed in disused PQ tubes of compost in the sitooterie, alongside some french bean and leek seed from good old Fortnums. A few cuttings have over-wintered successfully in the cold frames, notably potentillas and cistus. A three year old pelargonium shows signs of life, as do a couple of long-serving fuchsias. Might haul them indoors to boost them into producing shoots long enough to take as cuttings before we head south in a month's time. If we get a good day this week, I'll get out with shears and tidy up some hebes, box and pieris. The primroses are blooming fit to bust: we got them from Gladys, my art class friend some years ago. Sad to say, she seems to have gone into residential care: her vast pile of a house has 'sold' signs on it. But at least, as Miss perceptively put it, we know she's safe.
Rattled the cage of Jokers"Я"Us today, it being more than five weeks since the latest of their blown double-glazing units was measured for replacement. I hope, for the sake of their future customers, that we have fewer cock-ups, hence failure costs, than last time. While in cage-rattling mode, I have enquired of dear Pierre whether he intends ever to finish the work in Another Place. Our spies report precisely no progress since last back end. Replies awaited from both. Deep sigh.
Thursday, 12 March 2015
Colour at last
There's a patch just outside the sitooterie that is a blaze of colour: yellow and purple crocuses, and the first daffodils. There have been some spells of fine weather long enough for me to get out and garden a little, so the roses - most of them, anyway - are pruned, and I've made a start on giving the penstemons their annual short back and sides. Much of the grass is still too soggy to cut, but I did manage to cut the bit that shows at the front, where the ground is a little drier.
Someone points out on Facebook today that the petition to reinstate Cl4rk5on has attracted far more signatures than one calling for an end to female genital mutilation. As I tersely observed there yesterday, I used to enjoy Top Gear when it was about cars rather than its presenter. I haven't watched it for some years, having tired of the juvenile laddishness, let alone what I've heard described as the hubristic bigotry that has become its trademark.
Oh well, wholesome entertainment last night: a fund raising quiz by the Friends of the local CAB. The format, unlike the subject-specific rounds at the Mayor's quiz, was eight rounds of mixed general knowledge, which we preferred. I have to say that the questions were on the whole rather easier, though that didn't stop us coming in with fewer than 5/10 in a couple of rounds. Nevertheless, our table (largely thanks to Martyn) came fourth out of eighteen, and we might have crept up a place had they accepted my answer that Switzerland's is one of the few flags of the world that are square rather than rectangular. But it's only a game, and at £15 per head including fish and chips, it's good value.
More gardening today, since Miss is struck down with a bad cold. I'm busy elsewhere next Thursday, so that puts off still further the evil hour of pencil portraiture sessions! Shame too in a way: I have a box of nice French drawing pencils in the boot of the car. You can't buy Criterium pencils here, so I keep an eye out for them in the French supermarkets, and buy them up when there are good deals on offer. It means that I can resell them at 50p and just break even: the weakness of the Euro helps, of course. I should add that I don't attempt to factor in transport costs...
Someone points out on Facebook today that the petition to reinstate Cl4rk5on has attracted far more signatures than one calling for an end to female genital mutilation. As I tersely observed there yesterday, I used to enjoy Top Gear when it was about cars rather than its presenter. I haven't watched it for some years, having tired of the juvenile laddishness, let alone what I've heard described as the hubristic bigotry that has become its trademark.
Oh well, wholesome entertainment last night: a fund raising quiz by the Friends of the local CAB. The format, unlike the subject-specific rounds at the Mayor's quiz, was eight rounds of mixed general knowledge, which we preferred. I have to say that the questions were on the whole rather easier, though that didn't stop us coming in with fewer than 5/10 in a couple of rounds. Nevertheless, our table (largely thanks to Martyn) came fourth out of eighteen, and we might have crept up a place had they accepted my answer that Switzerland's is one of the few flags of the world that are square rather than rectangular. But it's only a game, and at £15 per head including fish and chips, it's good value.
More gardening today, since Miss is struck down with a bad cold. I'm busy elsewhere next Thursday, so that puts off still further the evil hour of pencil portraiture sessions! Shame too in a way: I have a box of nice French drawing pencils in the boot of the car. You can't buy Criterium pencils here, so I keep an eye out for them in the French supermarkets, and buy them up when there are good deals on offer. It means that I can resell them at 50p and just break even: the weakness of the Euro helps, of course. I should add that I don't attempt to factor in transport costs...
Thursday, 5 March 2015
March madness
Interesting to read today that, assuming an SNP landslide on 7 May, the Tories and Labour will be pretty much level pegging [identifier of origin of cliché earns honorable mention]. How about a Lab-Green-SNP coalition? Given that the Lib-Dem vote is likely to collapse, the wild card is UKIP, from comment upon which I gladly refrain. Wonder how the Tory voter base would feel about a Tory-UKIP alliance? Wonder also how many would consequently feel tempted to emigrate. Nice in a way that politics are getting a shade less boring than heretofore. We are decamping to Another Place for the last fortnight of the campaign.
Tired today after a couple of days this week interviewing postulant hobbyists. And after all the scribbling of notes, the hands hurt like hell, despite my using the laptop for report writing. Hardly surprising that I couldn't find any inspiration at art class today, and settled for a couple of little thumbnail sketches. I did gesso a sheet of acrylic paper, ready for when next the muse pauses hereabouts.
Here at Forges-l'Evêque, we're interviewing kitchen suppliers. My only regret about selling up at Smith Towers was that I'd only just had the kitchen refitted. We're looking for kit that will approximate to what we had there, including a well-dimensioned top oven that integrates oven, grill and microwave, and think we've found one. One result, if the refit goes ahead, is that we might finish up with no fewer than four microwaves in Another Place. Whither, one adds, we would repair for the duration of the works, as is our wont.
First colour today on daffodils and purple crocuses. Primroses are blooming fit to bust, but I see a 'sold' sign on the vast house of the kind friend who gave them to us. Hope she's well, and comfortable in more appropriate digs.
Tired today after a couple of days this week interviewing postulant hobbyists. And after all the scribbling of notes, the hands hurt like hell, despite my using the laptop for report writing. Hardly surprising that I couldn't find any inspiration at art class today, and settled for a couple of little thumbnail sketches. I did gesso a sheet of acrylic paper, ready for when next the muse pauses hereabouts.
Here at Forges-l'Evêque, we're interviewing kitchen suppliers. My only regret about selling up at Smith Towers was that I'd only just had the kitchen refitted. We're looking for kit that will approximate to what we had there, including a well-dimensioned top oven that integrates oven, grill and microwave, and think we've found one. One result, if the refit goes ahead, is that we might finish up with no fewer than four microwaves in Another Place. Whither, one adds, we would repair for the duration of the works, as is our wont.
First colour today on daffodils and purple crocuses. Primroses are blooming fit to bust, but I see a 'sold' sign on the vast house of the kind friend who gave them to us. Hope she's well, and comfortable in more appropriate digs.
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